Rimrock Jones | Page 7

was low, they came forth like
indolent butterflies to float up and down the street. They sauntered by
in pairs, half-hidden beneath silk parasols, and their skirts swished
softly as they passed. Rimrock eyed them sullenly, for a black mood
was on him--he was thinking of his lost mine. Their faces were
powdered to an unnatural whiteness and their hair was elaborately
coiffed; their dresses, too, were white and filmy and their high heels
clacked as they walked. But who was keeping these women, these
wives of officials, and superintendents and mining engineers? Did they
glance at the man who had discovered their mine and built up the town
where they lived? Well, probably they did, but not so as he could notice
it and take off his battered old hat.
Rimrock looked up the road and, far out across the desert, he could see
his own pack-train, coming in. There was money to be got, to buy
powder and grub, but who would trust Rimrock Jones now? Not the
Gunsight crowd, not McBain and his hirelings--they needed the money
for their women! He gazed at them scowling as they went pacing by
him, with their eyes fixed demurely on space; and all too well he knew
that, beneath their lashes, they watched him and knew him well. Yes,
and spoke to each other, when they were off up the street, of what a
bum he had become. That was women--he knew it--the idle kind; they
judged a man by his roll.

The pack-train strung by, each burro with its saw-horse saddle, and old
Juan and his boy behind.
"Al corral!" directed Rimrock as they looked at him expectantly, and
then he remembered something.
"Oyez, Juan," he beckoned, calling his man servant up to him, "here's
five dollars--go buy some beans and flour. It is nothing, Juanito, I'll
have more pretty soon--and here's four bits, you can buy you a drink."
He smiled benevolently and Juan touched his hat and went sidling off
like a crab and then once more the black devil came back to plague him,
hissing Money, Money, MONEY! He looked up the street and a plan,
long formless, took sudden shape in his brain. There was yet McBain,
the horse-leech of a lawyer who had beaten him out of his claim. More
than once, in black moments, he had threatened to kill him; but now he
was glad he had not. Men even raised skunks, when the bounty on them
was high enough, and took the pay out of their hides. It was the same
with McBain. If he didn't come through--Rimrock shook up his
six-shooter and stalked resolutely off up the street.
The office of the Company was on the ground floor of the hotel--the
corner room, with a rented office beyond--and as Rimrock came
towards it he saw a small sign, jutting out from the farther door:
MARY ROGET FORTUNE TYPEWRITING.
He glanced at it absently, for strange emotions came over him as he
peered in through that plateglass window. It had been his office, this
same expensive room; and he had been robbed of it, under cover of the
law. He shaded his eyes from the glare of the street and looked in at the
mahogany desk. It was vacant--the whole place was vacant--and
silently he tried the door. That was locked. McBain had seen him and
slipped away till he should get out of town.
"The sneaking cur!" muttered Rimrock in a fury and a passing woman
drew away and half-screamed. He ignored her, pondering darkly, and
then to his ears there came a familiar voice. He listened, intently, and

raised his head; then tiptoed along the wall. That voice, and he knew it,
belonged to Andrew McBain, the man that stole mines for a living. He
paused at the door where Mary Fortune had her sign, then suddenly
forced his way in.
Without thinking, impulsively, he had moved towards that voice as a
man follows some irresistible call. He opened the door and stood
blinking in the doorway, his hand on the pistol at his side. Then he
blinked again, for in the gloom of the back office there was nothing but
a desk and a girl. She wore a harness over her head, like a telephone
operator, and rose up to meet him tremulously.
"Is there anything you wish?" she asked him quietly and Rimrock
fumbled and took off his hat.
"Yes--I was looking for a man," he said at last. "I thought I heard
him--just now."
He came down towards her, still looking about him, and there was a stir
from behind the desk.
"No, I think you're mistaken," she answered bravely, but he could see
the telltale fear in her eyes.
"You know who I mean!" he broke out roughly,